


And Love all you have Left

by j_marquis



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Body Horror, Chaos, M/M, Post Dirge of Cerberus, sketchy with canon, taken rather seriously, vincent's limit breaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-10-05 22:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17333627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: Veld got to retire. Turks never get to retire. But he still can't turn them down for a favor, even if that favor means storing a demon.





	1. And in my Dreams you're Alive and you're Crying

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I'm kind of picking and choosing from Before Crisis here. Elfe lives, and reunites with her father. But Veld never sees Vincent again after sending him to Nibelheim. So, yeah. Picking and choosing what works best for my story.

Turks didn't normally get to retire. It wasn't exactly public knowledge, but it wasn't uncommon to know, either. When you signed the paperwork, it came with a lush package if you lived long enough to leave the company. Veld never bothered to ask for his retirement pension. He didn't want them to know where he was. Where Elfe was. And he didn't need Shinra's money. He had enough saved from his time as Director, and the little money he made raising pigs and chickens, growing various vegetables, kept up the large farmhouse skirting the Mideel forest well enough.

He only needed enough to keep he and Elfe happy, anyways. Whatever Shinra had done to him, it kept him healthy, though it slowed his aging to the point he wasn't sure he was aging at all. Suited him just fine, it wasn't likely Elfe would get old anytime soon either. Not with Zirconaide still taking up living quarters in her hand. So Veld Verdot had survived retiring from the Turks.

Sort of.

The only thing Turks were really loyal to was each other. If Shinra was lucky, the director would have some kind of loyalty to the President, or at least to the paycheck that the President signed, but that was the best Shinra could really hope for. So the Turks, of course, knew where he was. Tseng, Reno, Rude and Elena were generally quiet about it, left him to his own devices. Asked advice, occasionally brought him news or liquor from the mainland. Twice, Tseng had come to take a vacation, and Veld didn't mind the company.

So when they asked if they could store something on the farm, a few years after Meteorfall, he agreed. The mess from Deepground seemed to have died down a little, and Veld pretended he hadn't heard the fear in Tseng's voice. Could have been anything. The world had been weird since Valentine had gone missing.

Veld would never stop regretting sending Valentine to Nibelheim. Still thought about that fight, telling him he couldn't stand looking at him, had to get him as far away from Midgar as possible. The years after the fire were a drunken mess of regrets and harsh words, but even as the years faded, the look on Valentine's face never did. The unshed tears in his voice when he told Veld he'd see him in six months.

Six months turned into two years, turned into a missing persons report that was never resolved. It was the only regret he had with a lifetime of the Turks. Losing his girls had been hard, of course, but he had Elfe back. And she still loved her father most days.

She was in town when the Turks brought the package.

No. Package wasn't the right word.

It was a metal crate, heavily locked, and it rattled and banged and rocked as Rude and Reno dragged it out of the freight plane they had taken to Veld's farm. It howled, and Veld felt his skin crawl.

"The fuck you get me into?"

"Didn't know where else to bring it, Boss." Reno looked away. "Ate two WRO soldiers, we couldn't bring it back to Reeve."

"But we can't let it die." Rude finished.

"I'm sending you the dossier on the Chaos Entity. Hopefully it shifts back. If not, just leave it in there. Keep it alive until we figure out what to do with it." Tseng offered, eyes cast low. "But the less you know, the less Reeve can ask, if he finds out."

"Be real. How much shit are we in right now?" Veld asked, examining the crate.

"Depends on if it shifts back."

Veld nodded. "And I have to assume it's gonna go after me the second I open that crate."

Tseng nodded, with a grimace. "I didn't know where else to go, Sir."

"I know. I'll look after your monster." Veld touched Tseng's shoulder.

He had to help them, after all. The surviving Turks were his kids, and if they were dragging him into this mess, they must have needed help. So he didn't ask who else knew, he didn't ask what the Chaos Entity was, or what it was going to shift into. Instead, he helped them haul it next to a storage shed near the raised garden plots, flourishing in the late summer warmth. Sent them home with bags of fresh vegetables and fat, juicy fruits from the harvests of the home he had made, an unfair exchange for their monster.

And sat, a cigarette perched between his lips and a beer in his prosthetic hand, facing the door of the crate.

"Okay beastie. Let's get a look at'cha."

His kids had left him with the locks for the heavy chain, and Veld made sure he was already miming the spell he would need to subdue the thing as he unlatched the crate, edged the heavy door open.

He didn't need to worry. The monster inside looked petrified. It was massive, easily three times Veld's size, curled into a back corner of the crate half hidden by shadows. What he could see was a horrific mess of flesh and bone, golden red eyes and horns that brushed the roof. What he thought were wings moved in the darkness with heaving breaths. Something glowed from it's chest, faintly, illuminating raised lines of scars like knotted, gnarled roots of trees on a narrow chest. Veld felt a strange, alarming sympathy for this creature. Never mind that it ate two WRO soldiers, according to Reno.

"Hey." He chanced, stepping into the crate.

It snarled, curled even further into itself, away from Veld. And Veld reached a hand out, like it was a skittish chocobo, not some strange amalgamation of demon and man. It lashed out with one clawed hand, drawing blood.

"Alright, alright. It's okay. I'm going."

Veld knew better than to keep trying. He retreated to the kitchen to wash and bandage his hand, no sense in wasting a cure spell on it. Drank his beer, flicked the cigarette out into the sink. The monster was probably hungry. It had looked scared, lashing out not because of anger, or malice, but in defense.

Did unholy demon creatures like sandwiches?

Veld made him one anyway. Water, sandwiches, fruit, piled high on a tray. Brought it out to the creature, and set it down in the doorway before locking up again. Didn't want it getting any smart ideas and going tearing through the gardens or eating his livestock. Or, worse, going after him or Elfe.

Elfe. Shit. How was he going to explain this to her? That the Turks had gotten him into yet another mess. And he'd dragged her down with him.

She came back late, when it was already full dark, made immediately for the kitchen to grab a beer and leftovers from the dinner Veld had made when he realized he was too deep into the Chaos files and had forgotten to eat. Perched in a chair across from where he had taken up the sofa.

"So, Dad, what's the crate out back?"

"Keeping something safe for the Turks. Best not get near it, the thing can get kind of touchy."

"What the fuck." Elfe set down the beer, and sat cross legged in the chair, leaned forward to look at her father, dead in the eye. "And you just, what, said yeah sure bring the dangerous crate here?"

"It's safe long as it's locked up." Veld didn't really have an answer himself.

Elfe groaned, made a face at him. "How long?"

"I don't know yet."

"It gets out, or makes any mess, Dad, we're sending it back."

"I'll see what we can do." Veld acquiesced, with a heavy sigh. He didn't like it either. But the thing had looked so empty. So scared. Veld hesitated to agree to just give it up or put it down.

And, besides, they said it might "shift back." Whatever that meant.

Because it was still there in the morning, though the food was gone. So Veld made him another plate.

"Guess you were hungry." He didn't expect the creature to respond, but he talked to it all the same, like talking might help it find itself again. Whatever it was. "I can make you more, in a few hours. If you want, of course. If this is enough, I dunno. Let me know, somehow." Talking to it was nice, like talking to a friend.

But the creature just looked at him, for a long while, before lowering it's head onto it's arm. Like a beast going to sleep. Veld didn't approach, just left the food and resolved to check on him again after the animals and plants had been tended to.


	2. As your Mouth moves in Mine, Soft and Sweet

Everything around the crate was wilted away. Veld couldn't say if that was the demon, or just pushing a hulking metal crate into the garden. The chickens, in their pen, watched the crate warily. Like they knew something he didn't. Though, more likely, they were just watching him, hoping he would come by with feed. He did, but a couple of the older hens still watched the crate. Veld didn't ask. Chickens made no sense to him and never would. He'd accepted that a long time ago. Liked them well enough anyway.

And no matter what cosmic horror was lurking in a thick metal crate next to his shed, there were still eggs, ripe fruits and thriving vegetables to be harvested, beds to be watered and animals to be fed. Work to be done. A whole world outside this monster he couldn't shake from his mind.

The others had been scared of it. Veld thought it might look sad. Scared. Desolate, in that empty cage. A beaten wild thing not allowed to stretch it's wings. Still, Veld knew better than to release it. The Chaos Entity.

The Turks had brought him a God in the shape of a beast.

Heaving the crate open, he didn't know what to expect. Didn't know if he was surprised to see the sandwich picked apart, fruit eaten and bits of lettuce and bread left abandoned on the tray. He had an odd memory of trying to feed Vincent, the way he would pick at his food and eat only the pieces he wanted.

"Hey, so that's a no on the lettuce, huh?" Veld collected the tray, and set it aside. "Can I get you into the light, see if there's anything needs fixing?"

It snarled, began to recoil, but at Veld's offered hand he stepped forward. Dragged one leg. Well, there was the first thing he was going to have to deal with. Thick, scarred lines came into view as the afternoon light found the Chaos Entity. Heavy, heaving breaths as one clawed, blackened, bruise like hand touched Veld's. It was cold. Too cold to be living. And yet there it was, a claw traced over Veld's hand, blazing golden red eyes searching his face.

Veld knew those eyes. He'd had nightmares of those eyes for years and years, dreams of them before. Those eyes were too bright, and they burned into Veld's and they recognized nothing.

He'd deal with his shame later, for fleeing.

He couldn't stay in that crate. He couldn't meet those eyes, he couldn't let that hand search his. He couldn't watch him, not knowing Veld, search for something real. That's what it was, that pain and ache.

It was fear.

Trapped, in a body that wasn't his, and hurt. Dragging his leg, his body a mess of scarring and deep, unrelenting pain. Veld knew he should go back in there. He should gather his cure spells and heal those aches. Shush him, stroke his hand and tell him it would be alright. Cast his cures and bandage wounds. Bring him inside. Give him a bed and safety.

_He ate two WRO soldiers._

Whatever wore his eyes, that wasn't him.

So he would keep it, for the Turks. Far away from the life he had built. Far away from Elfe. Those cold, deathlike claws could not come close to his family. And if it shifted back, well, maybe he would shift back to the man he had known. They had never even bothered to declare him dead.

Veld's hands shook around his cigarette. Elfe hated him smoking in the house, but he couldn't be outside with that _thing._ And he needed a cigarette. Needed to process.

It would have been close to forty years since Valentine had gone up into the mountains. Look after the scientists and whatever it was they found, keep people away from the mansion so they could work in peace. They'd only need one Turk for that, and there were a few grunt soldiers going with him. Just in case anyone needed to be shot. And after that fight, screaming at Valentine to just get out, he wasn't too hurt when the reports back were vague and infrequent. Besides, even in his short time as director, Veld had learned that things involving the science department were all too often vague and infrequent.

And then, the reports stopped coming at all. And a missing persons report was quietly shelved, never to be opened, because sometimes people just disappeared. And you had to learn not to ask questions.

Forty years. Veld should have been an old man. He didn't look like he had aged since he had left the Turks. Still had the energy of a man thirty years younger. He wondered what he should have looked like. What Valentine would have looked like. If he would ever, if they would ever be old men. If he would ever be anything but tired and resigned to not knowing. The cigarette burned to ash in his fingers, and he couldn't look away from the crate out the window. Like it was calling to him. Knowing what was inside of it, what the creature had taken from him, he wanted to destroy it.

He wanted to save the thing inside. He couldn't even look at it. Didn't know if there was anything left to save. But it wore Valentine's eyes, that cold hand didn't reach out to hurt him. It was scared. It was alone, the pain in it's too familiar eyes still stuck in Veld's mind.

He couldn't be out there. Couldn't stand seeing that thing, knowing what it was and what it had done. Hurt wracked through Veld, stung his eyes where he bit back tears. He couldn't focus, couldn't think about anything but that crate and the creature inside.

He had to swallow the pain. Open the crate again. If there was a chance that there was anything worth saving, Veld would have to take it. Bite back the ache and force himself to pry open the door. Face the thing and salvage what he could.

He had to let that ice cold claw touch his hand again and draw him into the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aftepes.tumblr.com


	3. Rings of Flowers Around your Eyes

The door seemed cold, heavy, reluctant to move under Veld's metal hand. At least as reluctant as he was to expose the creature inside. It groaned loud, creaking under his hands, he yanked the door aside. The thing had recoiled back into the corner, it watched Veld intent. One arm was bleeding, and the drip drip drip echoed in the plain chamber of the crate.

"Hey." Veld breathed, "Did you hurt yourself?" He kept his voice gentle, like he was talking to a scared animal, an injured child. A fragile thing, not this Godlike being that scratched at it's arm until the skin peeled and more blood drip drip dripped on to the floor. Metal gleaned in the mid-afternoon light, where it was embedded in the creature's arm, torn up and adding to the cuts that lined it's body.

It took a hesitant step forward, dragging it's leg. There were dried cuts, dark areas that might be bruises on it's face. Veld wanted to be sick. But a thought, odd and unbidden, ran into him like a crashing car.

Was this how much Valentine had been suffering? Was this what his life had been like in the thirty-odd years since he had gone missing? Shinra had been reluctant to look for him. And if this was why, Veld wanted to wring the necks of each simpering shitheel left living who hadn't gone looking for him. If they had done this to him, Veld would revive every single Shinra executive who had gone along with it just to kill them again.

The thing touched Veld's arm. There was metal, golden and bloody, embedded in it's arm. Breaking the raised lines of scarred skin, digging into muscle. Veld thought he might see bone on his wrist, where metal had dug in so deep. Veld took the claw, sharp and inhumanly dark, in both hands. He thought he wanted to tear his hand away, but that wasn't what he did. He turned the hand over, touched his palm, moved to the piece of metal that showed bone in his wrist.

"Want me to get this one out for you?"

It didn't pull away, searching Veld's face without a glimmer of recognition. It hurt, to see those eyes so familiar to him not know his face. Veld looked away, down to his wrist, so he could pull the metal out and cast a cure spell on the open wound. The thing recoiled, a dangerous growl escaped it and the beast began to pull his wrist away, but it relented. Let Veld heal him.

Still, Veld spoke to the thing like it was a scared child, an injured, cornered animal. Soft, gentle. Like he had with Elfe when she had first come home.

"There you go. Better, huh? Bet that thing was making it hard to move around."

It was already picking at another piece of metal in it's arm, and Veld was beginning to put together in his head what the thing was that he was trying to dig out of his arm. It had been there to help him. A piece to add structure and strength to his arm. The way he moved it, there was no strength, he shook under Veld's touch. He wasn't a beast, wasn't a monster. He was just a sad, scared creature. His arm could hold nothing, fingers flexing uselessly against Veld's hand. He wouldn't lash out. He couldn't fight Veld, injured as he was. Even if he wanted to, and there was no malice in his eyes, he couldn't. Too injured. Too weak. He simply let Veld heal him, watching his hands, or staring over his shoulder into the daylight.

No matter how docile the thing seemed, Veld couldn't let him out. Couldn't forget that this thing had eaten two WRO agents, scared the remaining Turks. _Lord of Entropy_ the documents had called it. They brought him a God with his best friend's eyes.

Veld wondered if it was Vincent at all in there. Or if the thing had searched his memories, taken something he thought Veld would trust and added that to itself. But it had seemed so fragile, so broken when Veld touched it. He couldn't imagine the creature sinking fangs into a human who meant him no harm. Maybe that was what it wanted Veld to think.

Or maybe that was just a way to assuage his guilt when he locked it up again.

"We still have that crate." Elfe commented, offhand, a week later over dinner. She was kicking her legs against the barstool at the kitchen island counter, hand around a bottle of beer, and Veld still sometimes had to remind himself that his baby girl was a grown woman, with her own nightmares and loves. No need to chastise her over a beer with dinner.

"No one's come for it yet."

"Will they?"

"Hopefully." Veld shrugged.

"It was screaming last night."

"You didn't go in, did you?"

"Dad, what's in there?"

Veld regretted not answering, when he heard the screams for himself. But what could he say? What could he tell her, that wouldn't admit to sending Valentine away. Turning a blind eye to the Science Department for so many years. Some things, back then, you didn't ask about. Veld had learned young not to ask questions. Not about Shinra. Not about the murders, the subterfuge. Not about the people who never came home. 

He regretted not looking for Valentine sooner, when he heard the screams. Not the creature's screams. His daughter's, that night, when he was trying to sleep. She had gone in. She was screaming.

He only regretted not grabbing his gun when he saw Elfe bleeding. The monster, cornered in the crate and snarling, Elfe backing away, clutching her arm to herself. She looked between Veld and the dark crate, fear in her eyes, blood pooling under her hand.

"What is that thing?" She managed to whisper.

It was changing back. Or into something else.

But what collapsed on the floor of the crate was not Chaos. It was not a god. It was Vincent Valentine, dying.


	4. And I'll Love You

Vincent wasn't Vincent anymore.

A hollow shell had taken up residence in the spare bedroom, and it sat on the porch and looked out towards the gardens and the ocean beyond and said nothing. Slept long hours, curled in every blanket Veld could spare and still he was bone cold. Picked apart meals just like he used to, drank his coffee black just like he used to. Watched Veld with such intent alertness.

Just like he used to.

But he didn't speak, and he had no strength left in his arm, and the scars covered his entire skinny body. 

Gods, he looked like he was starving and he hardly touched his food. And he was cold, so, so cold. Leaned into every small touch like he was starving for it, but Veld could hardly bring himself to touch him.

It was like touching a memory. He hadn't changed, aside from the scars. Grown out hair that spilled down his back and covered his eyes. No, he had changed. What he hadn't done is age. His face, unlined, still not even thirty years old. Those same eyes. Oh, those same eyes. Golden red and blazing and last, he had seen them hurt and angry and red with tears he refused to shed. Cursing Veld before he left to catch the next truck heading to Nibelheim.

Gorgeous and hateful with his pressed suit and wild hair, untouched and untouchable. Spook Valentine, they called him, and the others kept their distance. They didn't know him. Sure, Vincent was deadly, quiet and aloof, but he had a strange, morbid humor to him, and a smile that could light a room. He shook, sometimes threw up when he killed. Cried sometimes late at night. Read obsessively. Slept on Veld's floor on his bad nights. Curled up with his head in his arms, he didn't want to talk or touch, just sleep with the reassurance that someone else was there. Alive.

He sat on the porch, watching the sun rise over the trees, the ocean glistening in the distance. Veld rested a blanket on his shoulders, touched his hair, just once. There was a long scar working over his shoulder where the sweater Veld had given him to wear was too big and hung down. His whole body was a network of scarring that he wouldn't let Veld see. Turned away from him if Veld came close. Hid in blankets and thick, warm clothes.

Veld sat beside him and offered him a cigarette and they shared the smoke in silence.

Vincent moved. He pushed himself closer to Veld and he could all but feel the cold radiating off of Vincent. He turned, tucked the blanket closer around him but it was there still. Vincent was so cold.

It was instinct to wrap his arms around Vincent and draw him close. Rub his back and try to imbue some of his warmth for his small form. Vincent was so long, skinny, but he tucked himself into Veld. Knees to his chest and arms around himself, he leaned close. Veld just held him. He didn't know what else to do. Rubbed his shoulders, his back, tried to steady his breathing. Provide a source of comfort. Gods knew Vincent could use a little comfort. They probably both could.

Vincent's shoulders were shaking, he let Veld take more of his slight weight. Veld ran his hand down his back, he could feel the notches in his spine. He wondered if he could feel the scars, if he pressed just a little bit harder. How far Vincent would let him go. What he would let him see and what he would tell him. If he ever told him anything. What had happened in those long years when Vincent ran to Nibelheim. When Veld cast him away.

He fell asleep there, and Veld laid the blanket over him and let him. Far from the strangest place Vincent had fallen asleep. Veld picked himself up, but he couldn't shake the feeling of that cold body, shivering and alive, but barely breathing, under his hands. Vincent Valentine, alive, despite everything.

He didn't know what to tell Elfe. Just that they had to take care of him. After all, they couldn't just leave a man to suffer like that. But she spent more and more days "in town" and away from them. It suited Veld just fine, less he needed to explain to her. How was he supposed to explain to her that this was his friend, who he had sent to death? That he couldn't get Valentine out of his head, out of his dreams.

Vincent slept most of the afternoon, like a cat in a sunbeam, curled up on his arms and under the blankets. So much like the young man he had once known, who would sleep on the floor of his room just so he could be around someone alive. So Veld let him sleep. Did little but reassure himself that Vincent still remained among the living. If anyone could call this living. A mockery of live, quiet and hollow and cold, performing the motions with none of the soul.

Elfe had called to tell him she was staying the night in town with friends, not to worry, she was safe, and she had picked up feed for the chickens that she would bring back. So Veld prepared dinner for two, and ushered Vincent to the table to eat with him. Watched him pick apart the food and quietly gave him seconds of the bits he did like. Made certain he was drinking water, he was breathing, enough. He was calm. 

"Elfe's bringing back feed for the chickens. Maybe you and me should go out there when she gets home and see if the birds trust you. Could use an extra air of hands for some of the garden." Veld tried to keep up conversation, one sided as it was.

"Guess we'd have t'see if anything can be done about your bad arm first. Though there's a lot you can do with one arm. Believe me, the prosthetic's gone weird a couple times. Still managed while I waited for someone to help run repairs."

Veld laughed, small, pointed at Vincent with his fork. "But don't you go getting it in your head that you _have_ to help or that you owe it to me or any self sacrificing bullshit like that. Just think it might be nice. You an' me, working together again."

He left Vincent watching the sunset while he cleaned up the food. And when he went to bed, he expected Vincent would have done the same. Just like he had, now over a week, going through the motions of a living man.

But Veld heard him shuffle into his room, starting Veld from a light doze.

"Vince?"

"I'm sorry."


	5. For the Rest of your Life, When You're Ready

Veld sat up, pushed his blankets aside and patted the space beside him. "C'mere. Siddown."

But Vincent hesitated, standing in the doorway, in the dark, only the light from the moon, seeping through the large windows, illuminated his gaunt features. 

"Nothin' you've got to be sorry for, Valentine. Anyone owes anyone an apology it's me. I stopped looking for you. Let whatever this is happen."

But Vincent looked away, started turning like he would leave.

"Not like that. I said siddown."

Vincent sat, perched on the end of the bed like it was only a matter of time before he was turned away again.

Veld sighed, scooted himself closer to Vincent. "What I mean is, you don't owe me an apology. Don't owe me shit. You just focus on getting better, and we'll work it out from there."

"Better?" Vincent echoed, distantly.

"Fuck, I don't know. Is this better? Hell, Vince, it's been too long. I don't know what better is anymore."

"I don't either." Vincent breathed.

"C'mere. Lay down with me." Veld tugged gently at him, until they were both laying in the bed, and Veld could tangle the blankets around them. Try to warm him, Vincent was still so cold. So, achingly cold. Veld pulled him close and felt him breathing, sparse as it was. A parody of life, cold and trembling in his arms. Veld held on to him all the same.

Had he always wanted to kiss Vincent Valentine? Or was this new, was this something that had only built when he brought him into his home and saw the man he had once sent away in hate. No, that was wrong. He had never hated Vincent. But Veld had lost everything and looking at him had sparked something in Veld and he'd needed to be rid of him. Send him away.

He'd always wanted to kiss Vincent Valentine.

And there he was, Vincent tucked into his arms, pressed against him and he didn't know who started the kiss but neither one of them ended it, imperfect and clumsy, they knocked noses and didn't know where to put their hands, but there they were. Kissing. It wasn't deep or rough or passionate, just simple presses together, hesitant and awkward. Veld didn't pull away. Nor did Vincent, brushing his good hand over Veld's shoulder to hold on to him in return.

It felt like coming home.

But kisses are not miracle cures, and the Vincent that had fallen asleep in his arms was not there when he woke. Instead, he found the hollow thing they had welcomed into their house sitting on the porch, where he had been for too long, sitting outside like he didn't think he belonged in the house.

Veld brought him coffee, pressed the mug into his hands and a kiss to the top of his head. Let Vincent lean into him, and Veld wanted to stay. He wanted to sit beside Vincent and kiss him again and again and pull him back to bed and find out if love was healing after all. But it wasn't love. Veld had to tell himself it wasn't love. There was something else there, an aching loneliness, a need to have just one other person recognize Vincent, see that he was something living. Something worthy of human affection.

He breathed a deep sigh. Work could wait. Vincent needed him. He sat on the porch and wound one arm around him.

"Feeling any better?"

Vincent nodded, slow, and he sunk into Veld. Let Veld support his slight weight and notched his head against his shoulder. Breathed out relief when Veld rubbed a hand along his back. So Veld kept it up, smoothing his hand up and down Vincent's back, up and down, soothing. He could feel Vincent breathing underneath him, shallow and slow, feel the shudders in his shoulders when emotion took over. Veld could feel it as it bubbled up in him, emotions neither one of them had ever been equipped to deal with. So Veld remained quiet, rubbing Vincent's back, kissed the top of his head once more. And caught his lips when Vincent turned his head up, kissed him. Smiled.

"Come inside. Supposed to rain, you should try and keep warm."

Vincent nodded, and he let Veld guide him by the hand into the living room. Veld wrapped him in blankets, and started a fire in the fireplace. Brought Vincent more coffee before he went about bringing the animals into their pens, left them food and water to keep them happy as the first heavy drops of rain hit the ground. He closed the pens, wiped rainwater from his bangs, and turned back to the house. He could see the flicker of the fireplace, rain dropping down the windows, the shadow of Vincent's bundle of blankets where he remained on the sofa.

Vincent Valentine. _His_ Vincent Valentine, back from the dead. Vincent Valentine, who he had never hated. Maybe one day he would find a way to tell him. Tell him he had never been hated. When Veld sent him away, no, it wasn't of hate. He couldn't bear to see him suffer.

And everyone in Midgar suffered, one way or another.

Even Veld. Even Felicia, no, Elfe. Only an infant when he sent her and her mother to Kalm, they still suffered what Midgar and Shinra wrought. He tried to save Vincent. Midgar came for him, instead, and Veld didn't know what he had gone through. Curled up on the sofa, Vincent had his arms around himself, head rested on his knees, eyes closed.

Veld sat beside him, smoothed a hand down his back, back up, fingers lacing into his long black hair. Still soft, after all he had been through. He helped Vincent move, until his head was laid on Veld's leg, and his long body resting on the sofa. They'd deal with the trauma later. Deal with the monsters, and all the suffering, later. Because for the time being, they had each other. It had been enough in the Turks, and maybe, just maybe, it could be enough now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will just be an epilogue~


	6. We are One and the Same

He knew eventually Elfe was going to ask. Vincent had been staying in their home a month and even still he was near to silent. He’d progressed into small things, hello, or thank you, or goodnight, but he struggled to find more. And there were storms on the island they had made home, so Elfe was in the house, dancing around Vincent like he would become the monster once more.

So he knew she was going to ask, one of these nights.

“Who is he?”

Vincent was washing the dishes from their dinner, Veld and Elfe had a rare moment where they could talk, over beer and cookies he’d made that afternoon while rain and wind attacked their home.

“Vincent? An old friend from the Turks.”

“So he’s Shinra.” She grimaced, took a long drink of her beer.

Veld didn’t blame her for hating Shinra, not after everything they’d done. “Not, not exactly. I mean, he was, but I don’t know anymore.”

“How’d they know to bring him here? Was he, you know, like that before?”

Veld shook his head no. Nothing was like it had been before. Least of all Vincent. Gods, missing for so long and he barely knew the man they had returned to him, quiet and cold and aching. Desperate for touch, for a sign of affection. And still, he loved the man who climbed into his bed late into the night, held on to him like Vincent might fall apart if he let go. Veld held him together.

Vincent took Veld's cigarettes from the coffee table, stepped outside.

"Shinra did that to him." Elfe set her beer aside, looked after Vincent.

Veld nodded. "Probably."

"So we're all just Shinra's mistakes."

Veld looked after Vincent. He had nothing to say to that, it was so achingly true. They were cast offs, science department rejects, monsters. None of them had aged, it seemed none of them would. And, yet, the three of them found this place, where the ocean waves crashed in the storm and they held each other. He put one arm around Elfe and he held his daughter to him.

"He's staying." Elfe finally said, her head on her father's shoulder, "I mean, where else would he go?"

Veld nodded. "As long as he wants."

_As long as he'll have me._

Veld joined him on the patio, left Elfe to wash up and bury herself in a book for the night. Vincent was as quiet as he always was, quiet as he had become, but he leaned gratefully into Veld, offered him a cigarette and they shared the smoke between them, barely any distance between their breaths. A kiss, and then two, and then silence. Comfort, the rain and the winds so far away, the chaos so far away. It was safe here.

Vincent could stay. Veld would keep him, safe and warm, help him when the words wouldn't come. Ageless, meaningless mistakes of Shinra's science department, they could have each other. 

Later, Vincent would tell them where he had been. What he had done. Later, Tseng would bring the heroes of Meteorfall to hold their missing friend, to laugh and tell stories, to brighten the place with friendship and laughter and Vincent would shy away from the light.

He'd tell them he had already decided to stay.

What he wouldn't tell anyone was he had decided to stay that night, watching the storm, Veld's arm around him, cigarette smoke and recovery.


End file.
